


The One-Eyed God of Power

by Miss_M



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Norse Mythology
Genre: Ambition, Gen, Gods, Post - A Clash of Kings, References to Norse Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While recovering from his injuries, Tyrion reads a book of Norse myths and decides which god he resembles the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One-Eyed God of Power

**Author's Note:**

> Because it is high time I wrote something for Tyrion. Also, because crossovers with myths rock. Eternal apologies to Brendan Behan for stealing and corrupting his most brilliant line! Spoilers for the first two books, I own nothing except hope for Tyrion’s canonical storyline.

It was the eye that decided him. 

The eye which Odin cast into a magic well, and gained great wisdom in return. Tyrion gained nothing when he lost his nose at the Battle of the Blackwater. Obviously. Some wisdom would be nice. Wisdom, or the ability to bed three virgins at once. 

The book was vague on the subject of which eye Odin sacrificed, but Tyrion knows exactly which he would choose. The green one, so his remaining black one would match the darkness of the empty socket. Or he could wear an eye-patch. It might lend him a certain gravitas, he thinks. He could use some of that right now. One-Eye sounds better than No-Nose.

He never realized how much he could grow to like having a place at the table until it was taken away from him, and the chairs in the Small Council chamber were very comfortable. Explains why the other Council members cling to their perches so, like screeching parrots. Why even his father sees a chair at the head of that table as a worthy goal.

If he were Odin, Tyrion thinks, he would scrap the title ‘Allfather.’ It would suit Tywin fine, but Tyrion would prefer something else. He would also get rid of the wife and two legitimate sons, one blind, the other doomed to an early death. What kind of a god can be killed, Tyrion wonders. Not that the notion is not intriguing, but it does seem to negate the whole point of godhead. No, Tyrion will settle for the numerous mistresses and passel of bastards. And the palace at Asgard. And the respect. 

He misses that even more than his chair on the Small Council, though he will never say it. If anyone asks, his arse simply got used to the cushions. 

Tyrion considers Odin’s other attributes. Magic, poetry, hunting, war, death. Some of these are appealing, as pastimes if nothing else, while others are downright tempting. Tyrion is not certain he would trust himself as the lord of death. Not right now, still bedridden and treated as though he were no better than an inconvenient footstool. 

He has little use for hunting, and after the loss of his nose he has had his fill of war. Jaime can have those, Tyrion thinks wryly. If his brother were the god of hunting and war, he would be out of the Starks’ hands and ending this bloody war by now. 

Come to think of it, the two fertility deities, Freyja and Freyr, are twins… 

Tyrion grimaces. He loves and sometimes envies Jaime, but he has never wanted to _be_ him. Not if being a mighty warrior who could have his pick of the realm’s women comes with the obligation to bed Cersei. Tyrion would rather rut with a wet, spitting, rabid alley cat any day. 

Tyrion also has no taste for human sacrifice or for being hanged from a tree for nine days with a spear in his side. Or for the end of the world. Fire, then ice, then water, it is all very grand, and a bit excessive. Tyrion will graciously leave all that to Tywin, and settle for whatever wisdom his green eye would buy him. 

So. The one-eyed god of wisdom, magic and death. With a palace, mistresses, even an eight-legged horse (that ought to be an interesting spectacle, come mating time). A bit grim and overbearing, but some people just do not know how to make the most of things. Tyrion does. He has spent his whole life squeezing the last drop of pleasure from the most meager vessels. 

Trouble is, now he has had a taste of power, he finds that pleasure alone is no longer enough. And you cannot squeeze power out of whores and wine. Not unless you are Petyr Baelish, and if Tyrion has never wanted to be his brother, he certainly does not want to be Lord Little-Like-My-Finger. He will just have to hurry up and heal, and rejoin the game with the other leaping, cackling, slithering creatures at court. 

No-Nose or One-Eye, it makes little difference. In the end, every cripple must find his own way of crawling.


End file.
